Life's Chance, Life's Blood
by chicadoodle
Summary: warning: slash and self-mutilation (cutting). the summer after 5th year is on eof Harry's worst yet, and he finds himself turning to cutting as a way to deal with it. After a while, though, even that doesn't seem to be enough ........
1. Default Chapter

In the dark of the night, a young boy lay tossing and turning. Sweat covered his brow, trickling down his cheeks and neck to soak his over-sized nightshirt.  
  
Harry Potter was caught in the throes of one of the most horrific of his dreams yet. Since Voldermort had discovered in his last year that Harry was able to see his little torture sessions, He was steadily become more and more aggressive, more and more violent with his followers in those times that he knew Harry would be watching.  
  
Perhaps if these had only been morbid, dark dreams Harry would have been OK, would not have been quite so frightened. But the fact that these things were actually taking place right now ........ that this was not his own imagination, that people could actually behave in such a way ........  
  
And perhaps if Voldermort had simply stuck to violence, he would not have been reduced to the empty, frightened shell that he now was.  
  
But there were the conversations. The times when Voldermort would sit there, speaking calmly and rationally to Harry of all the things he hoped to accomplished, detailing the attack that was currently taking place, holding Harry in his "dream" until the act could be accomplished. Wouldn't do to have any of his followers captured by the Ministry of Magic, now would it?  
  
Tonight, he was torturing a nameless young woman, clothes ripped from her body and scattered around her as various death eaters had their "fun". Lucius Malfoy was not one of them, harry was surprised to note -- he wold have expected the older man to be the first one to have his fun with this obviously muggle young woman.   
  
-------- -------- -------- -------- -------- -------- -------- --------  
  
Harry lay awake in his bed, staring at the plaster peeling on the ceiling above him. In his right hand he held a sharp kitchen knife -- one of his aunt's favorites, actually. His right arm was littered with sharp cuts and bruises, from the time he had spent in this same position almost every night of the summer vacation. Most of the time, he didn't cut deep enough for blood to be released. Tonight, however, he just needed to see that -- to see the proof that he really was still human, that he could feel just as much as anybody else.  
  
Funny -- the only time he truly felt alive was when he was trying not to be.  
  
Grinning darkly at that morbid thought, Harry brought the knife down up his arm yet again, watching as more blood welled up to join the rest, sliding silkily down his arm. Mesmerized by the sight of it, Harry slowly leaned down, running his tongue lightly through the red liquid, moaning softly at the taste.   
  
Self Mutilation. That was what people called this. They would say that there was something wrong with him, for wanting to hurt himself, wanting to inflict bodily harm upon himself. They'd think that there was something wrong with him, try and put him into some sort of psych ward. They, They, They. It was always about somebody else. Always trying to please everybody else, always trying to be the perfect golden boy for them so that they could sleep easier at night.   
  
Just last year, he wold have said that his sleepless nights were just the price he would have to pay to make the world seem a safer place for those around him. He kept it inside, didn't let them see the fear that he lived with every day. Because if he was afraid, then so wold they be. But if he showed no fear, acted as if all was right with the world, then their fear would diminish. After all, if the sole target of the Dark Lord wasn't afraid, what right did they have to be? Sighing softly, Harry leaned his head back against the cool wall behind him. He'd been locked in his room for five days straight now, receiving one meal a day, consisting of whatever Aunt Petunia deemed to be edible leftovers. More often than not, he just got stale, crusty bread with a piece of meat and cheese, and a glass of water -- in a plastic cup, of course, to stop her from having to do any unneeded dishes.  
  
Slowly closing his eyes, Harry idly wondered what would happen if any of his relatives were to walk in and find him like this. Would they fee l sorry for him? Laugh at him Help him to finish the job?  
  
He didn't want to die. He actually rather enjoy ed the act of living. Of breathing. Of being able to change things around him.  
  
Even if he was expected to save the entire bloody world from a raging madman whose sole ambition was to commit genocide on all those unfortunate enough not to be born with the ability to perform magic. Muggles, in other words. And squibs. Couldn't forget the squibs, poor unfortunate souls that they were -- doomed forever to live among the wizarding world, yet never truly become a part of it.  
  
Harry shifted his position so that he could stare out his window, noticing not for the firs t time that his uncle had failed to place bars on the window. He could easily climb out, possibly making it down to the ground without alerting his relatives to his leaving. He couldn't take all of this things with him, just the essentials and the small amount of wizarding money that he had exchanged for muggle money at Gringott's on the last Hogsmeade weekend before returning here for the summer.  
  
Could he do it? Did he want to do it? Mind suddenly straying off to think about the various beatings and assaults that he had been privy to since he'd first come "home", Harry's eyes suddenly narrowed into small little slits and he slowly stood up from where he sat against the far all of his room.  
  
It really was a no-brainer. Stay here, in this little room and recieve various beatings every day for simply being who (and what) he was, or leave this damn hellhole in exchange for something better.  
  
He couldn't go to Hogwarts, or The Burrow, for that matter. They would just instantly send him back here, and he knew that his relatives would be none too pleased with that -- he'd be lucky to survive that beating that he'd recieve in that instance.  
  
So, that ruled out two possibilites. Plus, he wasn't feeling too keen on Albus Dumbledore at the moment. The man had to know what went on here, how he was hurt, how he was treated. And yet, in all of his intense wisdom, the older man did nothing. Just sat back and let it happen.  
  
Glancing at the old clock sitting beside his bed, Harry narrowed his eyes once again. 3:00 in the morning. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now, before anybody else woke up. He only had one chance at this, and he couldn't blow it. 


	2. taking action

thank-you for all the reviews! they're weren't many of them, but there were plenty enough for me to continue with this story. sorry about the long delay, as well :: i've been writing offline lately, and i'll skip around from story to story. i've got three that are already up that i've been working on, and one new one that just kind of popped into my head, another idea for a story that i might incororate into one my stories already going. and now, onto my wonderful reviewers ::   
  
tragiclullaby428 -- yeah, i probably should change the rating, huh? i'll do that right now :D  
  
emikae -- i used to, don't anymore. hope that this new chapter lives up to your expectations. although, when i say i don't anymore, it's not like the thought isn't there anymore. i still want, still know the methods with which i'd use, but i just don't do the physical part. it's mental as much as physical, though. and now i'll shut up because i'm getting all deep and stuff :D  
  
KatSuyA -- and here's your update! i know, that was a pretty mean place to leave off, huh? hope you enjoy :D  
  
-------- -------- -------- -------- -------- -------- -------- --------   
  
He was cold. Cold, and Hungry. Harry Potter wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in the cool night air. He'd left Privet Drive only two hours before, and already he was beginning to have second thoughts.  
  
He'd figured out early on that the Knight Bus was out of the questions; he'd certaintly be recognised there, after the last time he'd ridden and the Minister of Magic himself had come to collect him at the Leaky Couldron.  
  
So now, here he was, with a backpack slung over his houlder near to bursting, filled iwth all of his thi ngs that would fit. He'd left most of his school books behind -- he could always buy more, and they'd only take up prescious space that could be beter used for other things -- like his photo album of his family, and his quidditch set -- both far more important than old schoolbooks that he probably wouldn't even need in the upcomming school year.  
  
Hedwig he'd sent on to the Burrow with his Firebolt -- it wouldn't fit into his backpack and he certaintly wasn't leaving THAT behind.  
  
There would be questions when Hedwig arrived there, Harry knew. And, most likely, people would star tlooking for him almost immediately.  
  
But they wouldn't find him. He wouldn't allow them to.  
  
Harry had decided this late last night -- or was it eraly this morning? - As longa s no people were around him, then they weren't place in danger.  
  
Voldermort knew who his friends were, knew who was the most important to him. And he knew how to strike the deepest, how to inflict the most pain.  
  
Voldermort had already explained, on more than one occassion, that simply killing Harry's loved ones would serve no purpose. He had to be there, to see it, personally, and not just through some kind of dream-vision.  
  
So as long as nobody he cared about was near him, Voldermort wouldn't hur them.  
  
For the summer, atleast, he was on his own.  
  
Harry sighed softly, leaning his head back against the cool brick building behind him.  
  
It was only now beginning to get light, but he'd already made it -- on foot -- into downtown Surrey. Far better than he'd originally expected, considering the distance between Numer 4 Privet Drive and his current location.  
  
Digging the back of his skull into the brick building he was currrently leaning against, Harry sighed again before finially pushing himself into a standing position, repositioning the backpack on his shoulder and quickly walking down the deserted sidewalk, careful to keep an eye out for any Police Officers patrolling the area.  
  
If they found him, it would be as good as handing Uncle Vernon written permission to beat him into a bloody pulp ........ and asking Dudley to help him.  
  
Careful to keep one eye out for the plice at all times, Harry quickly made his way down the street, heading for where he knew the bus station was approximately located. He didn't know it's exact location, just the general location and direction.  
  
Harry knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he was being irrational. He knew that all he was actually doing was making people worry about him deedlessly. With some logical part of his brain, he knew all of this.  
  
However, he just couldn't seem to grasp hold of the reality of that thought. It was like a fleeting though, transforming into a formless clould of smoke wheneve rhe came too close or tried to grasp it.  
  
So he kept walking, determidly placing one foot in front of the other. This, atleast, he had control over. He had so few choices lately, so few things that he could control.  
  
The bus station was, unsurprisingly, packed when Harry arrived. It was now going on twoard 6:00; a time when most people were heading off to work. And by the looks of things, quite a few of them were just now getting OFF work.  
  
Sighing softly, Harry slumped back against a large stone pillar, leaning his head back against the cold surface.  
  
What would Ron say, if he knew just what Harry was planning Hell, it wasn't even PLANNING anymore - he was doing it. He was running away from home.  
  
It was an odd thought, one that he'd never contemplated up until tonight. No matter how bad things got with the Dursley's, t he thought of actually up and leaving had never actually crossed Harry's mind.  
  
Mentally shrugging to clear his head of such thoughts, Harry rose to his feet, sumbling a little as he walked to the edge of the walkway. He certaintly didn't want to haveto wait until the next bus came by, simply because there was no more room. 


End file.
